


Entertainment

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Biting, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Xanxus is just pushing Squalo down over the arm of the chair when the knock comes." Xanxus doesn't take well to being interrupted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entertainment

Xanxus is just pushing Squalo down over the arm of the chair when the knock comes.

They both go still for a moment. Squalo actually turns to look towards the door, shut but not bolted; locks aren’t needed, not when the entire castle knows what happens when Xanxus is interrupted against his will. Usually it’s only Squalo who dares it; the thought alone makes Xanxus’s bracing hold at Squalo’s bare hip tighten, digs his fingernails in deep against pale skin until Squalo hisses in wordless protest.

“Fuck off,” Xanxus growls, loud enough that the sound will carry through the weight of the door, and doesn’t look away from the way Squalo’s hair is spilling liquid over his shoulders to pool at the seat of the chair, over the elbows he has settled to brace himself in position. “I’m busy.”

“I know,” called back, the voice shaking so badly Xanxus can barely hear the words. “It’s important.”

“I’m busy,” Xanxus repeats. He takes a half-step in, shoves Squalo’s knees an inch wider with his own, and Squalo’s head turns enough to give Xanxus a clear view of the dark glare in the other man’s eyes.

“Don’t,” Squalo warns, for all the world as if he has the right to give Xanxus orders. “Don’t do it.”

Xanxus holds his gaze, unblinking consideration in his expression. He can see Squalo’s eyes go wider with realization, watches Squalo’s mouth start to form around more vehement protest, and then he moves, rocking his hips forward to thrust deep into the other man. The force is enough to slice off Squalo’s forming protest, to send a convulsive shudder through him that Xanxus can feel clench tight against his cock, and when Xanxus opens his mouth again it’s to growl incoherent appreciation of the tension.

The knock comes again as he’s drawing back for another thrust.

“If I ever find out your name you’re dead,” Xanxus shouts in what passes for a conversational tone. Squalo’s not looking at him anymore; he has his forehead pressed against his arms, is gasping for air with a weird tension in his inhales like he’s trying for quiet. Xanxus shifts a foot forward, thrusts in as hard as he can, and Squalo’s attempt at silence shatters into a startled moan low in his chest. Xanxus grins.

“It’s  _very_  important,” comes the voice again, the distraction like a chill in Xanxus’s blood.

He growls, a low curse under his breath, slams forward so hard Squalo actually skids against his bracing arms, chokes out something that sounds like a plea and is more likely a curse of his own. Xanxus lets one of his bracing hands go, reaches out to push Squalo’s hair off the curve of his neck.

“Fine.” A growl, layered over with threat of aggression more likely to be turned on Squalo than on the unfortunate messenger on the other side of the door. Squalo tenses under him, a premonition of understanding Xanxus can feel rippling through him, but Xanxus was expecting this too, has his fingers tightening at the other’s exposed neck to pin him to the chair before he has a chance to move.

“Fuck,” Squalo hisses against the chair, fingers dragging for purchase he can’t get. “Fuck, don’t you  _dare_ , I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Don’t tell me what I dare,” Xanxus says, low and rumbling, and then louder: “Come in.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation, the time it takes for the messenger to push the weight of the door open; Squalo is hissing curses, struggling futilely against Xanxus’s hold, but Xanxus doesn’t pause his movements. He’s finding a rhythm, now, a steady slow pace he can sustain without thinking, and with his current angle Squalo’s protests are shattering into breathless groans with every thrust, which is good enough for Xanxus’s purposes. Then the door comes open, there’s the sound of footsteps, and Xanxus looks up from Squalo’s desperate movements in time to see the messenger’s eyes go wide with shock.

“ _Oh_ ,” and he’s turning, pivoting towards the doorway again like he intends to retreat. Squalo makes a strange noise, an anxious strained moan, and Xanxus shifts his hand without thinking, shoves his fingers into the other’s mouth to muffle the worst of his reactions.

“Shut up,” he says idly, pushing hard against Squalo’s tongue to cut off his coherency. Then, as the messenger starts to edge for the door: “Come back here.” That gets him stillness, shoulder-shaking hesitation at the impossibility of refusing his commands, but nothing more than that.

“You said it was important,” Xanxus reminds. When he rocks forward Squalo jerks, his teeth catching at Xanxus’s fingers but not quite drawing blood.

“It is,” the messenger allows, his voice quivering high and frightened. “But I--I didn’t realize you--”

“I’m busy,” Xanxus repeats. “I’m still busy. Tell me what’s so important.”

“Sir,” the boy whimpers. “It’s the--”

“Turn around,” Xanxus orders. “I don’t care if you watch.” The sound Squalo makes indicates that  _he_  might care somewhat more, but Xanxus just spreads his fingers wider, forces Squalo’s mouth open so the best he can manage are wordless groans.

The messenger turns. He’s young, no one Xanxus recognizes; then again, Xanxus doesn’t bother to know the faces of anyone outside the top-level team. He’s also crimson, every inch of exposed skin flushed bright red with embarrassment, and he doesn’t hold Xanxus’s eyes for even a moment before his gaze drops to the movement of Xanxus’s cock sinking into Squalo’s ass. Squalo whines, something broken and desperate, and Xanxus grins, moves a little faster so Squalo jerks and the boy’s throat works convulsive on a swallow.

“Tell me,” he says. It’s less angry, now, more amusement than irritation; entertainment he is sorely lacking, and Squalo’s protesting noises would be interesting enough without the way he’s tensing tighter and hotter around Xanxus’s cock with every motion. “What’s so important?”

“It’s the Uccello family,” the messenger says, eyes still fixed as if by magnetism to the easy-slick movement of Xanxus’s hips. “They’ve ambushed one of the branch teams, nearly wiped them out but for a pair that radioed back. They say they’re on their way here, they plan to stage an assault on us.”

“Send Bel and Fran out,” Xanxus declares. Squalo’s not even resisting his fingers anymore; he’s just panting for air, the sound hot and wet in the room. Xanxus pulls his hand free, digs spit-wet fingers into Squalo’s hair to press him down against the chair instead.

“They’re already out on a mission,” the boy says. His color is starting to collect in his cheeks, now, a high flush of arousal more than embarrassment. “Lussuria and Levi are present, but--”

“Unnecessary,” Xanxus interrupts. Squalo’s starting to shake, now, turns his head down to gasp against the chair. Xanxus moves a little faster, listening idly for the telltale catch in Squalo’s breathing as the other’s back starts to arch with anticipation. “Send out the fifth squad, they should all be here.”

“Just the fifth squad?” the messenger gasps. He sounds nearly as breathless as Squalo, now.

“Yeah,” Xanxus says, then: “Hang on” and he looks away and down. Squalo’s shaking under him, his face hidden by the tangle of hair around his head, but Xanxus can see the fist he’s making, the trembling effort of restraint collecting in the curve of his spine and tight around Xanxus’s cock. Xanxus fists his fingers into Squalo’s hair, drags back to tip his head up and curve his throat taut and strained, and when he fucks hard into him it’s with the impact of complete certainty. Squalo jolts, motion rushing up his spine and spilling out of his throat in a groan that’s almost a sob, and Xanxus lets his hair go as the other man starts to come. It’s easy to ride him through the waves of sensation, to fall back into a slower rhythm as Squalo draws tight around him, and Squalo’s still shuddering through aftershocks when Xanxus turns back to the messenger.

“Levi can go too,” he allows. “That’ll be more than enough to deal with the Uccellos.”

“Oh,” the boy says. “Okay.”

“We done?” Xanxus asks, more rhetorically than sincerely. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The messenger looks up, finally meeting his gaze, and the glazed-over heat in his expression evaporates into wide-eyed panic in the span of a heartbeat. He pivots on his heels, moving so fast he trips over his own feet, and then he’s gone, slipping out the door while Xanxus is still finding his preferred rhythm again.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Squalo moans against the chair without turning his head. “You fucking asshole, I’m going to make you regret this.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Xanxus orders, leans forward hard to crush Squalo’s face against the resistance of the seat. “You just came all over yourself, you’re not going to convince me you didn’t like it.” Squalo whines, tenses hard around Xanxus’s cock, and Xanxus growls wordless appreciation, spreads his feet an inch wider and speeds his motion.

“You were so goddamn hot for it,” he says to the pale curve of Squalo’s neck, the spill of long hair against his fingers and the chair. “I could fucking feel you, don’t try to lie to me.” Another thrust, deep and fast, and Squalo groans again like the sound is being pushed out of him. Xanxus’s heart is pounding in his chest, his inhales coming sticky with anticipation, and he’s moving faster without thinking, any deliberation he had giving way completely to instinctive rhythm. Squalo’s whining with every movement, now, rocking against the chair and bracing himself palm-down against the seat, and Xanxus’s vision is going hazy, all his focus drawing in unthinking to press itself at the back of Squalo’s neck, along the white-pale line of his hair.

He’s still staring when pleasure hits, wrenches him inside-out and spills hot and burning inside Squalo’s body. The sound he makes tears in his throat, rips itself free of his control like a vow of dominance, and then he’s shutting his eyes, panting himself into control again while Squalo gasps curses underneath him.

It takes a moment for the amusement to hit, to unwind into Xanxus’s blood and catch control over his breathless satisfaction. But then it’s there, tight in his chest and rippling up his throat, and when he starts to laugh it’s loud enough to drown out the grating edge of Squalo’s curses.

Squalo never fails to provide him with entertainment.


End file.
